Look look look
by Dream's Penumbra
Summary: Look at me. Look at me, pa! Ma, aren't you proud of me? Look at me, all beautiful - Look at me, so I can carve your eyes out. Please, won't you look at me? Look look /look/, just once? / Glimmer-centric oneshot.


Attention whore, that's what they call you, and you don't deny it.

After all, all your life you've been shouting look look _look_ please look.

_"Look at me!"_

* * *

At age five you discover what it's like to be ignored.

It's two days before your birthday and you're back home with a black eye after a fight with Lapis - why's the house so empty? Where's ma?

You walk your little sad steps up to your room and cry because you need someone to hold you and that someone isn't there.

Pa finds you three hours later, well, guess you're getting a younger brother or sister. When pa asks you which one with his bright eyes looking at something behind your back that you can't see, you halfheartedly say brother because 'b' comes before 's' and you add that bit of information.

It's a bit of a surprise when he doesn't pat your head or anything, he just leaves you in Lapis' house, his eyes sliding off your bruise in a giddy fashion. You sulk in Lapis' room for the many hours that pass and when ma comes home you don't even know because they _forgot_ to pick you up.

When you see the bright lights of your house you jump off the window seat and rush home, ignoring Lapis' insults thrown at your back, but when you burst into the living room, ma's asleep with her belly way smaller and pa snaps at you for waking up the twins.

The _twins._

Miracle and Feat, pa says proudly. You stare at the two of them, pink but pretty in the cream-colored crib. Miracle's arm is thrown over Feat's chest and pa gently nudges it off with a laugh that only _you_ used to get.

You storm off into bed despite your growling stomach and pa doesn't even _look_ at you.

It's a problem that you can't sleep without a bedtime story.

* * *

Two years later, you're used to it, them, Miracle and Feat who stare at you with ma's beautiful amber eyes. Miracle, with her hair that shines already and Feat, bright and clever and _so much smarter than you._

Whereas you're just Glimmer, with orange-tinged hair that ma chops off every few months with scissors. Kind of tall with no friends and broken inside.

It amuses you that you described yourself as broken inside and congratulate yourself for learning vocabulary from that neighbor who loves black. She's a bit weird, writes a lot of poetry that doesn't rhyme, but you think that she's pretty and nice.

You start school and ma and pa are there with a twin on each of their backs and they look at you, eyes proud.

You smile.

They look at you.

That's the happiest you've felt since Miracle and Feat and you stand tall and you imagine that for once, your eyes are shining green instead of boring brown.

It feels good, doesn't it?

But then Miracle starts crying and it's over.

* * *

Age eight, you seriously consider running away.

It's not like you have anything to hang on to - ma's so busy with Miracle and Feat, pa's as proud as a peacock about them, and you're just in the background.

But would they care?

That thought scares you and suddenly you're five again, crouching in a corner of Lapis' room and waiting for pa to pick you up.

In the end you don't run.

Too scared, too scared. Because if they really don't care you don't know what.

* * *

One day you're going to school when you see a sleek circular building and you're curious and go in.

It's a place called the training center and then you remember the Hunger Games, that thing where kids fight and District One usually wins. That girl with the pretty gold hair from school's there, drawing a hand back. The silver dagger rips through a blue dummy's face and you know that moment, you want to do that too.

It's actually hard.

Well yeah, _everything's_ always been hard for you, unlike for Miracle who does everything beautifully after one try and Feat who picks it up so quickly you'd never believe it's his first time.

But this -

The beginners' knife that the nice lady hands you feels heavy and awkward and it skitters across the target but she hands you another one, "Don't worry, Glimmer, it'll come to you in time."

When you finally manage to make it stick in the target, you feel what they must call _bliss._

And the nice lady pushes back her black hair and laughs so prettily, patting your head and promising you that _Glimmer, you have talent. Why don't you ask your mumma to sign you up?_

That night you go home and beg and beg and beg for your ma to let you train there. It takes a full afternoon, but you make it, and from that moment, you're officially training for the Hunger Games.

* * *

Twelve-year-old you is completely obsessed with the Hunger Games. You go to the training center and train in a way you've never done before, trying without anyone to criticize or make fun of you. It's the place for warriors, and they respect you for being able to slice off a dummy's limbs until two seconds.

Plus you get to the older students, and they're tall and graceful and beautiful and deadly and you _idolize_ them like there's no tomorrow.

This year it's Victoria Halest of District One who's the star, and you practically _worship_ her from the moment that she Volunteers; a knife slicing through the tribute bowl, a lazy "I Volunteer" and a stunning eighteen-year-old beauty climbing onto the stage.

Eleven.

You'd never thought eleven and twelve were scores that you'd be able to actually see; yes, eleven wasn't impossible, but the chances of a tribute getting it was extremely low and twelve was simply inhuman.

"So, Victoria," Caesar says, his smile big and toothy, "any message to the other tributes?"

Victoria just smiles, luscious brown hair and gleaming blue eyes.

"Scam," she replies.

Caesar smiles too and you can see that exactly what he wanted to hear.

Victoria's the leader of the Careers, boom slice slice she kills four in the Bloodbath and with a slice that boy from Seven is bleeding out, too. Kill, slice, knife. In no time at all it's the Final Eight and the Capital roars "Vic-ky Vic-ky" like it's never supported a tribute before.

That girl from Two never stood a chance, a head and two years under Vicky, and it's a bit of a surprise that she managed to shatter Victoria's legs before the dagger sliced through her stomach.

And it's a bigger surprise that when, the two tributes are lying there, too weak to make another move, the golden girl from One dies first.

Aelia Conners wins the year's games and District One takes home another bitter loss.

They say that she died of blood poisoning. What's that, anyways?

* * *

You consider Volunteering at sixteen, but decide that you could be prettier. Cashmere's already proven that the prettier you are, the more likely you are to get sponsors and find openings in your opponent's defense, so you decide that it's a good strategy to follow.

Miracle tries out the training center. The eleven-year-old may be a beauty queen in District One, but the training center is a different world altogether, where toughness and cruelty is adored and blood is better than makeup.

Besides, her older sister is at the top of the food chain here, and her cold attitude to the golden-haired, golden-eyed little angel girl is enough to mark her as _foreign, weak, _and _wrong._

"I can't believe she's your _sister,_" whispers Beauty - yes, her name's a bit old - as the two of you watch Miracle try and fail at sword-fighting. She's up against Royale, who, aside from being eight, has also been trained for two years.

You smile, quite satisfied. "Neither can I, darling."

And then Mr. Aile, your coach, calls you over for sparring and as always it draws a crowd of your fellow trainees; you note that Shine's there, with his gorgeous white-blonde hair, and so is Steele, who's probably the best swordsman in the district and who has the hottest abs to match. And their eyes are _on_ you, even Miracle's round amber eyes are blinking, staring at your performance.

It thrills you, as you weave around Beauty with your blunt knives whirling, that so many people _care_, that you're the center of attention right here, in this place.

Take that, Miracle.

* * *

When you're seventeen, you _know_ that you should Volunteer.

Of course, you've been getting ready for a long time, but everyone wants to go at eighteen, with maximum skill and maximum everything. You're different. You're ready - or so you think.

Reaping Day; you wake early, heart drumming out a nervous rhythm in your chest. You dash out to the training center for a quick warm-up, going over everything you know. Throwing knives, twirling them, swords, spears, running laps, push-ups, everything you can think of that you can do right now.

Then Beauty shows up with her hairdresser sister and drags you to their house to get ready. She might've only started being close with you after the training center, but, you reason, Beauty is overall a good person to have around.

Especially when you see the spectacle they've made of you.

_Good spectacle._

Golden highlights in your hair, tall and slender in your pink stilettos and sequined dress - thank you Beauty's sister... Well, _Cutie__,_ you feel ready for everything.

"I Volunteer!"

A punch, a kick, and a minute later, you're up there on the podium.

* * *

It's Marvel who's up there with you, not Steele - Shine Volunteered last year, didn't make it, the poor dear, but it's okay. It's all okay, as you stand there strutting and looking your best.

"Oooh, look at them! _Gorgeouuuus, _no? Give them a big hand, ladies and gents! Because we all know who's going to be Victor this year, don't we?"

Then it's time for the tributes families' to visit.

And.

You know that they're not going to come.

This shouldn't be it, this _can't_ be it, Glimmer d'Arah can't be freezing up just because of her family not coming to see her one last time before the Hunger Games.

But.

You're crying when Beauty and Cutie come in.

"Oh my - " Beauty immediately rushes to your side. "Glim - Glimmer! Are you, are you alright?"

The ten minutes allowed for them are full of crying and mascara-dabbing and reapplying makeup and "You can do it, attagirl!"s.

Right before they leave, Cutie remembers;

"Oh, and Glimmer; your family couldn't come because Miracle fell and sprained her ankle. They all had to go to the hospital, the little _thing_ was wailing so loud! Kill someone for me, darling!"

* * *

You think the Hunger Games is the best thing ever happened to you. You're tall and you're "oh em gee so curvy!" as the bouncy escort puts it and with your stylist's makeup and dyes and brushes and all you're breathtaking for the first time in your life.

You stand there next to Marvel with your hair fluttering like spun gold, wearing a costume of gold, blowing kisses, being radiant, and _loving_ it. Marvel looks good but not as, and the crowd chants your name, Glim-mer Glim-mer Glim-mer, and it's pure _bliss._

Until she comes out.

Twelve is the last district so you enjoy a few minutes of fooling yourself that you're the star of this night. Then suddenly there's another roar from the audience and you go _what the hell was that_ and look around.

Stormy eyes, flaming cloak, a halo of fire over her head, Katniss Everdeen is a goddess.

Pretty soon they're going Kat-niss Kat-niss and the others are forgotten.

You keep your smile on for the rest of the chariots.

Marvel waves a hand in front of your face and asks _hey Glim, you alright?_ and you smile and nod and flutter your eyelashes and don't show the tears that are threatening to spill.

It's childish and you know it, but Katniss Everdeen can't steal your night, you're beautiful and sexy and hell, _green-eyed_ for the first time in your life and yet -

District Two rolls into the loading dock after them and you breathe out and flirt with Cato and do your best to feel better.

Walking back to your rooms, your stylist starts talking about the interviews and you find yourself thinking _you better not screw this up, Twelve_ because you're going to blow them away.

* * *

Fuck both Twelves, really; the boy's just as bad as the girl, and your glimmer only lasts while you're doing the actual interview.

You hold your tears in and clench your fists and think of ways to rip their throats open.

* * *

The Bloodbath starts, everyone rushes toward the Cornucopia and you get that sinking feeling that tells you you're ignored.

Run forward, flip and grab a set of knives. The tribute from Ten staggers past you and doesn't even notice, he's too busy making sure that Marvel's not coming at him.

This time, you're _furious._

And the next person to look at you does so two seconds from their death and you're ruthlessly dragging a knife down her face. Screams? Maybe it's the pain you're giving her - "Anytime, Six!"- or maybe, maybe it's you screaming. Triumph?

Yes, maybe it's it.

_Look at me! Look at me, pa, ma_, you mouth as you hack and slash and kill. You didn't get to kill the Twelves, but oh well - save the best for last, you suppose.

Cato's proud and high-fives everyone and when it's your turn your heart gives a little jitter except you know that Clove will peel your skin off if you attempt anything above simple flirting so you smile and feel good.

Thousands of people are watching you right now.

Watching you.

Looking at _you._

* * *

Cato falls.

For a terrible second you think maybe his _neck_ - but no, no, no, he jumps to his feet swearing and spitting and shouting curses at the girl on fire, high high above.

You're not dumb, you see that you're too heavy to get far up that tree. Twelve's cunning, she's a coward and she's cunning, and she's all skin and bones.

But all you have are your bow and arrows.

You curse silently, because Clove has taken all the knives and she wasn't particularly subtle with the threats she made against anyone who doubted her ownership of them. They're yours, they should be rightfully -

You shoot and miss.

And you want to scream but you make yourself calm down. Everyone's watching, it's not good for you to lose your cool here. The chance will come, and you'll take it, but now -

Just smile and look pretty for the onlookers, mkay Glimmer?

* * *

You're tired.

So, so tired. You've killed and fought and laughed and acted, and on top of that you had to run away from a _stupid_ fire that was probably meant for that Twelve bitch. That's wrong - Twelve _bitch_.

Marvel shakes her shoulder and wakes you up for your watch. It's early, early morning, and you've never been a particularly early waker. Your shoulders bend, your eyes droop.

Eyes.

Mother: (She's silent, busy.)

Father: "Twins! Isn't that brilliant?" (laugh)

Miracle: "Like you could ever be anything."

Victoria: "Scam!"

Cashmere: "Deadly seductress, hm - how 'bout plastic surgery? Your eyes need work."

Six: "Please, don't - !"

Marvel: "Keep your eyes open, Glim."

Pain.

Pain shoots through your body like nothing you've ever felt before, not in training, not with Lapis - _who's Lapis?_ - not fighting in the Games. Games?

Your eyes - _how about emerald green?_ - fly open and all you see is a furious mass of gold and black, round, hard bodies and stingers and you think _bees_ and try to run but your legs turn into jelly and collapse under you.

You don't know what they are, bee mutts of some kind but they hurt _so much_ that you can't think of anything -

Ow -

Help -

What you're doing you don't know but

why

eyes

ow ahhh - !

there are boils coming up on

Miracle -

hate it

your arm, waxed waxed by your stylist to a shiny sheen

make it stop

and it's ugly ugly so ugly make it stop red boils green pus it's ugly it's horrendous

ow

green puss

ow

ow

stop

make it stop

no

ugly

stop

stop looking

don't look

please don't look at me -

**please please please don't look at me - **

* * *

a/n) Well, that worked out well. Not.

Hope you enjoyed this incredibly messed-up, scarring oneshot about our dear Glimmer. Reviews mean a lot to me, checking our my **Blood and Gore, À La Mode** SYOT also means so much to me - I still need 21 tributes, so... D:

Thank you for reading!


End file.
